Zianization
by CasusFere
Summary: A Malkavian named 'Zian (usually), and the Nosferatu who has to put up with him... rated for the OTHER personality's penchant for bad language.
1. Zian

Disclaimer: (AKA, waste of space) Don't own anything anyone else does.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"This is unacceptable!" The Ventrue slammed a palm into the table. An up-and coming CEO before his Embrace, the Ventrue had a superiority complex a mile wide.

"Acceptable or not, it's what happened," growled the cowled figure of the Nosferatu.

"Because you and your 'team' are incompetent. You claimed you could handle this, Recker!" sneered the kid in the suit. "Decided it's too big for you?"

Recker's answering snarl cut off as the huddled figure next to him looked up, seemingly focusing on the conversation for the first time. "The penguins are coming."

A moment of incredulous silence met this statement, as everyone around the table stared. Recker's ruin of a face twisted into what was best described as a long-suffering expression. He patted his companion on the shoulder awkwardly. "It's alright 'Zian. Play with your string while I finish this up." Nodding, 'Zian turned his attention back to the string wrapped around his fingers.

Everyone was still staring. "Now, gentlemen, I propose we…" Staring at the string, 'Zian let the voices flow over him. _Yap, yap… all they do is talk. And yell. It never gets anything done. Recker's just going to do the exact same thing he woulda done anyway. So much talking… but they don't listen. They _never_ listen. Oh, don't mind him, he's insane. I may be insane, but I'm not blind. They'll see soon… but they'll never _see.

Heads jerked up at the sound of the door crashing open. "Sir, sir! The outer perimeter's been breached! It's the Sabbat!" Excited babbling filled the room as vampires jumped to their feet.

Unnoticed, 'Zian sat still, the only movement the fingers twisting the string. "I told you they were coming," he whispered. No one heard him.

The Sabbat pack ripped through the defenses; machine, vampire, and mortal alike, heading straight and deadly for the supposedly 'secret' conference.

As the sounds of fighting neared, Recker tugged at 'Zian. "Come on!" Pulling the Malkavian up, Recker shoved him towards the wall. Most of the big-shot Ventrue had fled, but Recker didn't have time to drag his companion to safety, not and fight their way free as well. "Stay out of the way, 'Zian!" He turned back just as the door burst in, a pair of burly wannabe-badasses charging in.

'Zian watched the fighting curiously. _I wonder who told them we were here? Well, not them, but their leader… where is he? Even the Sabbat don't send caitiff pseudo-bikers to crash secret sneaky-sneaky meetings._ Humming softly to himself, 'Zian watched the door, sidestepping to keep from being hit by airborne remains of the smaller biker. _Here, little penguin, heeeere penguin… There you are._

The Tzimisce glided silently through the door way, intent on Recker's back. Recker, slamming the struggling Caitiff's head into the ground repeatedly, was oblivious to the danger behind him. A loud crunch made him drop the bloody Sabbat and spin around, snarling.

"Bad penguin," said 'Zian calmly, a hefty chunk of bloody chair leg in his hands. Recker stared. A Tzimisce lay stretched out on the floor in front of him, bleeding from the back of the head. 'Zian kicked the downed pack leader a few times for good measure while Recker stared in shock. "Can we go now?"

Shaking his head, the Nosferatu straightened. "Right. Let's get out of here." He paused. "Is _that_ what you meant by 'penguins' earlier?"

'Zian's expression implied that his friend was being a complete idiot on purpose. "I _told_ you they were coming. Maybe you'll listen to me now?"

Recker decided to keep his mouth shut and concentrate on getting them both out intact. After all, his Sire always told him, "Never argue with a Malkavian. Ever. You'll end up confused or insane, and either way they win."

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A/N- So the question would be... should I continue torturing everyone with the continued adventures of 'Zian and company? I couldn't help it... the penguin comment was just too funny, had to pirate it.


	2. Anahandros

A/N- I need a new title.

0-0-0-0-0

"Yeah? Well, you know what I think, Mick? I think you're full of shit." Johnny leaned against the pool table, shooting his pack mate a derisive glare.

"Ha! Come over here and say that! Just because you don't have the guts to pull something like that don't mean I don't, Johnny-boy." The other Gangrel sauntered over, stopping inches from his pack mate. "You got a problem with that, Johnny-boy?"

Johnny just shot him a disgusted look and very deliberately turned his back on Mick's triumphant, fanged grin. "Yo, boss, your shot."

"Yeah, that's right. Big bad Johnny's afraid to take on one pansy Ventrue in a suit."

The pack leader glared up from where he was leaning over the pool table. "Can it, Mick. You've made your point. Or do you need me to drag your ass out back and beat some respect into you?"

"Nah, Kracken… I'm cool." Mick backed away hastily. Unable to resist one more smirk at Johnny, Mick sauntered back to his two-dollar hooker. Intent on re-telling his story to a more appreciative audience, he missed his pack mates rolling their eyes as the episode became more daring with each retelling.

0-0-0-0-0

The car that pulled up in front of the run-down roadside bar wasn't the kind usually seen out here on the outskirts of the city. Sleek and shiny, it fairly smelled of big money. The man emerging from the back seat straightened his expensive tailored suit with a tug, his eyes flicking across the rag-tag assortment of bikes, rundown trucks, and battered cars. Nodding to himself, he strode confidently towards the door.

Of all the things they were expecting to walk in the bar at that hour, a high-class Ventrue in a thousand-dollar suit was near the bottom of the list. So they were understandably surprised when one walked in and put a fist in Mick's face.

Mick's head impacted the floor with an audible crack, and silence fell throughout the room. Ghouls and seasoned barflies stepped back, sensing the danger radiating from the Gangrel pack. The Ventrue's eyes swept over the pack, coming to rest on Kracken.

"My problem is with him, and no one else."

Kracken considered the Ventrue, noting the calm confidence in his stance, and the lack of fear in his eyes. A pool table stood between them, but no one in the bar had any illusions that it would so much as slow Kracken down. Neither's gaze wavered, even as Mick scrambled to his feet, holding a profusely bleeding nose and glaring. Nodding to himself, Kracken settled back on his heels.

Satisfied, the Ventrue turned back just in time to avoid being disemboweled. He blocked a jab to the face, and grabbed Mick, heaving the Gangrel over his shoulder and into the pool table. The sound of bone snapping was lost in the louder crack as the table collapsed.

Mick snarled and twisted himself around, getting his feet under himself. He lunged, and he and the Ventrue hit the floor in a heap, his pack mates circling around.

A few confused moments later the Ventrue stood, leaving Mick in a whimpering, mewling heap at his feet. He smoothed back his hair with both hands and carefully shook splintered remains of a chair off his now torn and bloody jacket. "For the damages," he said blandly, dropping a clip of bills on a still intact table. He walked out trailing blood, the ring of Gangrels parting for him.

Johnny broke the silence, eying the remains of his pool table with distaste. "So much for one pansy Ventrue in a suit."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Marks stared at the Malkavian's back. Anahandros's long hair obscured his face as he dug a pack of cigarettes out. Uneasy, Marks half-turned to Anahandros's shrouded companion, keeping his eyes on the lunatic. "So what's his… you know… issue?"

Anahandros glared over his shoulder, coolly striking a match. "I don't have an 'issue,' idiot." Taking a drag, he continued. "My other personality, on the other hand, is schizophrenic."

"I don't know. I'd call having more than one personality a pretty big issue." Suppressed laughter tinged Will's voice. "Don't you think, Marks?"

The Malkavian slowly turned to face him. "_I_ think you're really fucking annoying. In fact, I think if you open your mouth again, I'm going to remove your tongue. Preferably with a shotgun."

"Easy…" Recker reached out a clawed hand.

Anahandros swatted the hand away. "Why the Hell are we here, anyway? This place stinks. Literally, figuratively, and metaphorically."

"How am I supposed to know? Blame 'Zian… he was the one that insisted we come here."

"And you _actually_ listened to him? Stupid fucking bastard." Anahandros glared at the Nosferatu. "You are aware he's insane, right? Hears voices?"

Annoyance crept into Recker's voice. "He was the one who warned us about the Sabbat."

"I reiterate: Stupid fucking bastard. You're talking about someone who thinks dead wizards talk to him."

"Hey man, wait… you're talking about yourself thinking your crazy because you hear dead wizards?"

"Hey man," mocked Anahandros, "Shut the fuck up. I don't fucking hear voices." He glared at Recker. "Stop fucking staring at me."

Recker turned to glare at Marks. "You're supposed to be taking us to see the Prince."

Staring at Anahandros who was glaring back, Marks stuttered, "Y-yeah… come on…"

The Malkavian ground out his cigarette with a boot heel. "Fucking pansy-assed wannabes."


	3. Andan

"Well, isn't this posh?" snorted Anahandros sarcastically, trailing fingertips down a concrete wall. "You'd think Princey-boy could do better. Whoever the fuck he is."

"One of these days, someone's going to decide that you being insane isn't excuse for your mouth, Anahandros, and just caps your ass."

"They've tried. Don't you remember? Or should we add 'senile' to 'stupid' in our little list of adjectives?"

"You keep little lists now? 'Hey, other personality, don't forget to buy us shoes?'"

Anahandros glared up at the Nosferatu. "Fuck you."

"Score one for Nossy-boy!" crowed one of their guides. Recker had to grab Anahandros and restrain him from jumping the loud-mouth Brujah.

"Let go! I'm going to rip his fucking heart out!" Recker pinned the Malkavian's arms down, holding him tight despite the smaller vampire's squirming attempts to escape.

Hoisting Anahandros of his feet, Recker glared at Marks. "Well? Are we going?"

"That… door, there…" Marks couldn't take his eyes of the struggling, cursing vampire. "So… he's like psychotic, too?"

Recker grunted as Anahandros landed a kick to his stomach. "What? No… he's just pissy. Stop that!" Sulking, the Malkavian finally subsided, half-tucked under Recker's arm.

"You can put me down now."

"Probably."

"… asshole."

Unnerved, Will spoke up again in an attempt to placate the volatile Malkavian. "You'll like the Prince. He's a Malkavian, too."

Picking himself up off the floor where Recker had dropped him in front of the door, Anahandros spared another glare. "He's a Malkavian," he mocked. "What, you think that us all being insane makes us all friends? That, since we've all got our little 'issues' as you said earlier, that we all 'like' each other?"

"Anahandros, you don't like anyone. You're a bastard like that." Recker pulled open the door. "Just try to remember this is Elysium."

"Oh, go suck sewage. I'll do whatever the Hell I want," Anahandros grumbled, following Recker into a surprisingly well-appointed room, a stark contrast to the bare concrete hallway they'd left.

The floor was expensive plush rugs arranged over hardwood, the music the muffled pounding of bass from the club upstairs. Small clumps of vampires and ghouls stood or sat. In the corner farthest from both the door and the staircase, a larger group clustered around a lean figure lounging in a chair. One of them, utterly forgetful in cookie-cutter suits and of indeterminate clan, was arguing with the seated figure. Or trying to.

The seated vampire was ignoring the others, watching the newcomers with hooded eyes. Lean, with dark, slicked-back hair, and the lazy grace of a born predator, he had a particular gleam in his eyes. That odd intensity, that makes the subject of his regard want to run gibbering.

_Andan,_ Recker thought.

"But we can't just gamble everything on a…" the socialite cut off as Recker approached, Anahandros trailing after. Recker bowed deeply, shooting Anahandros a glare that the Malkavian ignored, busy pretending fascination with a tabletop. _Stupid bastard's going to get himself killed…and me, too.  
_

"So, stranger, what do you think? If a delusion becomes real, is it still a delusion?" The prince's voice was deep and smooth, tinged with a dark amusement.

_Damn Malkavians… How the Hell am I supposed to know?_ "If it's real, it, by definition, isn't a delusion," he ventured. Behind him, he could hear Anahandros fumbling for another cigarette. _Goddamn fucking Malkavians…_He went back over everything he'd been able to learn about Andan. _Not much… Damn 'Zian throwing that little fit, insisting we come _right now._ Like the world was going to end if we waited a few nights for me to get a feel for the place. Hears voices… throws tantrums that tend to get people killed. What else? Goddamn stupid fucking Malkavians._

"This is all well and good, but a… delusion… isn't a reason to waste our resources, or make decrees." _Mr. Socialite doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut…_ Recker noted, seeing Prince Andan's eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Mr. Socialite and a few of his buddies twitched when Anahandros stuck a match, carefully lighting his cigarette. "Just because it's a fucking delusion doesn't mean it's not real. Fuck, is stupidity contagious, or do you just have a high concentration of it here?"

Recker damn near swallowed his fangs. _Note to self: If we survive this, teach Anahandros what NOT to say to the Prince._

Andan, at least, seemed amused. "Indeed."

Recker bowed again. "My companion is Anahandros, of Clan Malkavian. I'm known as Recker, recently arrived from New York."

"My, looky Pasil, a Nosferatu who doesn't see the need to name his clan." Andan twisted partly around to give the Nosferatu behind him a sardonic look. Turning back to Recker, he smirked. "Amazing. Someone who knows my clan and doesn't immediately assume I'm an idiot."

Giving his own Malkavian companion a glare, Recker replied, "I've learned that Malkavians are rarely stupid, no matter how much they pretend otherwise, or how ever deranged, psychotic, and infuriating they act."

Anahandros snorted a laugh. "I'm not psychotic. You said so yourself not two minutes ago, _Nossy-boy_."

"My mistake. No matter how deranged, sociopathic, antisocial, schizophrenic, delusional, and pissing-ass infuriating."

"There you go."

0-0-0-0-0-0

A/N so it's short. 'Zian'll be turning up again here soon… ditto with the Ventrue…

My spell check keeps trying to change "nosferatu" to "nonfat"


	4. Interlude

Muddy water splashed up his boots as he ran, stumbling down the alleyway. Every breath felt like fire in his sides; his legs felt heavier than lead, but he dared not stop and rest. If he fell now, he'd never find the strength to get up again. He had to get away… he had to escape her…

Her. The Lady. What a laugh. No more a lady than she was human. That, he'd learned the hard way. Every night she'd find him, no matter where he went. The pain…

"Here, my pretty… Where is my preeeeetty… Don't run away!"

Choking back a sob, he redoubled his speed, only to slip in the mud and land sprawling. Desperately, he tried to scramble up, tried to crawl away…

She was there. Lifting him out of the mud, stroking his face. "Now, dear, it's not nice to run from Mommy."

"I'm not… your… son!" he gasped.

"That's not very nice to say, young man. I'm just going to have to take you home, make sure you behave." Horrified, helpless, he stared up at her, at those insane and inhuman eyes. "Bad boys have to go to their rooms without their suppers," she told him solemnly, dragging him stumbling back down the alleyway. He tried to plant his feet, to pull away, but her grip was iron and irresistible, more like wrestling with a locomotive than a frail noblewomen.

He stumbled and fell, she dragged him. He tried to cry out for help, she wrapped those tiny little steel fingers around his throat until he choked. The journey blurred into an eternity of fear and exhaustion…

She pushed him down the last few stairs into the cellar. Unable to catch himself, he hit the ground hard, and moaned. "You've been a bad boy. Bad boys have to stay locked up in their rooms." Catching the heavy door in one hand, she waved. "Bye bye! Sleep tight!" The door slammed shut with a crash, and a scraping attested to the bolt locking it in place

Alone in the dark.

_Alone in the dark…_

Anahadros jerked awake, eyes darting franticly. Seeing nothing but the stark walls of their temporary haven, he let his head fall back to the pillow. _Not here. Dammit! Why the Hell am I dreaming about that now? It's been so long…_Staggering up, he paced to shake off the lethargy of daylight. No clock… Where was this place? He hadn't been paying attention this morning. Agitated, he swiped the long, raggedly cut hair out of his face.

Recker'd be there soon. He always came to get Anahandros just after sundown. Nothing to worry about. Dropping back down on the bedspread, Anahandros carefully started to dismantle and clean his gun, the familiar actions soothing his nerves, passing the time.

_Damn, but I wish he'd hurry up…_

A/N - I was bored. Level of boredom is directly proportional to the rate of updatage... Inspiration is directly proportional to number of reviews x level of boredom.


	5. Him

It was after midnight before Recker unlocked the door to the temporary haven where he'd left Anahandros. Finding the information he'd wanted had taken longer than expected, and he was thankful he'd had the foresight to lock his insane companion in. _There's a happy thought… Anahandros wandering around a strange city by himself._

"Sorry that took so long, Anahan-" he cut off. "Oh, it's you." 'Zian sat in the middle of the floor, carefully arranging bits of string. Over near a corner was small pile of cigarette butts and burned matches. A quick sniff revealed that the room smelled strongly of cigarette smoke and gun oil.

"I think he's mad at you," murmured 'Zian.

"Whatever. Maybe you'd like to tell me why the Hell we came here in the first place?"

"Well, probably because sunlight hurts."

"Don't play stupid, 'Zian. Why are we in the city?"

"You're the one who got on the plane… you even bought us tickets."

Snarling in irritation, Recker grabbed 'Zian by his coat and dragged him out the door. 'Zian, for his part, trotted along placidly. Up the stairs and out onto the street, 'Zian humming to himself the entire way.

"I've got ADD, little purple penguins are chasing me…" Recker ground his teeth. _Goddamn Malkavians… why do I put _up_ with this? _After about two blocks, Recker got fed up. Spinning around, the Nosferatu seized 'Zian's coat lapels and shook him. "Knives and sticks and metal-what now?"

"Cut the crap and stop it! I know you know a Hell of a lot more than you're pretending. Now, tell me why the fuck we're here!"

'Zian gazed up at Recker, seeming completely unconcerned at being grabbed and shaken. "Because he was coming, and we had to be there."

"Who is coming, dammit!"

"He's not coming anymore."

"What the fuck are we doing here, then?"

'Zian leaned to one side to peer past Recker's shoulder. "Because… I'd say he's already here."

Recker dropped 'Zian and whirled around. At first glace, the street was empty. A second look showed something laying half in an alleyway not twenty feet away. A body, he noted, moving closer. A vampire, judging by the decay. Fresh blood splashed up the walls and deep, ragged gashes on the body attested to some sort of fight.

"Diablerie," added 'Zian helpfully.

Turning his head to glance back at his companion, he asked softly, "How do you know?"

"Isn't it obvious? You _can _see the body, right?"

"No shit. But how do you know that it was diablerie? Can you sense it? Or did 'someone' tell you?"

"God, Recker, why do you ask so many stupid questions? We should go. Now. Before they show up."

"I suppose it'd be pointless to ask who."

"Well, you could stick around, if you're too terribly curious."

Shooting the decaying corpse one last look, Recker followed 'Zian back up the street and down another alley. _Some days I wonder just how much of that 'insanity' is a sham…  
_

"… little purple penguins are chasing me-"

"Just shut up, 'Zian!"

A/N - nice to see I haven't lost you, cadazar. Hi Frog... I'm blaming you for the song. You've got it stuck in my head. Again. Oh, and we just found out why Ver failed math... heehee. Really short chapters, for some reason. Ah, well. Means I update more often, which I guess could be considered a good thing... Looky, this is now my longest story, short chapters and all!


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